


Sacrifice

by pixieheart



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: DanAndPhilCRAFTS, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:45:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixieheart/pseuds/pixieheart
Summary: Dan reflects on his deal with the devil.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A oneshot that was spontaneously inspired by the final installment of DanandPhilCRAFTS.

** Bang. **

** Bang. **

** Bang. **

He swallowed hard and stared into the empty space in front of him. The table he perched at just moments ago was physically above his wobbly knees, though the rest of the room became a blur of tunnel vision. Everything had begun to spin and swirl before him, and he grabbed the edge of the table for support.

His peripheral vision locked onto the fatigued form of his flatmate…

Best friend…

Lover….

But Phil’s body slumped lifelessly now, sprawled face first across the dining room table like a doll.

**R e d .**

There was so much red.

The darkness rose towards him with arms like whipping snakes. It reached for him, slapping its slimy tentacles around his wrists and fastening him to the chair where he had frozen in fear.

A loud and heavy groan sounds in his eardrums; a sound that is so close he could daresay it was in his head. Hazy brown eyes trailed towards the entrance of the hallway. **He** was speaking to him. He could hear **Him**. **He** was beckoning him closer. It was time.

“Okay,” he said calmly.

He was ready.

The merciless hands of darkness weaved around him. Waves of black surround them from all sides. The plastic chair beneath him shakes violently, threatening to snap like a twig. Beside him, similar ropes of black twist and curl around Phil’s limp body. It pulled him off the table with a greedy grasp, ruthlessly dropping him to the ground with a sickening sound.

He began to sink into the carpet.

Dan stared with an apathetic expression as Phil began to dissipate into the ground. The smudged red paint littering his torso gave the deceitful appearance of gaping wounds, but he knew better. There was no blood.

Not yet.

But he couldn’t look away as the darkness tugged Phil Lester lower…

Deeper…

Further…

Was he ready?

The man that had been by his side for all of those years looked unfamiliar now. The nerdy, thick-rimmed glasses that he had earlier slipped off his nose sat abandoned on the kitchen table. The pale skin was splattered with their collaborative crafting effort.

_We need this channel to go out with a bang,_ Phil had said.

Oh, if he had only known.

The cheeky smile that usually decorated Phil’s expression was eerily vacant now, as if he was merely sleeping.

Dan liked to think he was.

Phil was disappearing now, completely overtaken by the rippling tide. His pale fingers were the last to go, vanishing into the ground and leaving behind nothing but a trail of smudged red paint.

Another groan sounded in his ears. Dan looked at the camera which sat ever so delicately on the edge of the table. He leaned over with an outstretched hand, adjusting the orange chair where his friend had previously sat. He puts it back into place, as if the other man had not been sitting there in the first place.

Dan swallowed hard.

“Creativity is nothing without friendship,” he blurts out to the camera. The blinking red light captured his attention.

Red.

So much red.

“I’m sorry, but Phil had to go. And soon… I am going to leave with them both too.”

His voice was shaking.

Phil was his best friend. Without Phil, he would never be the person he is today. Without Phil, he would have never made it past his teenage years. He would have never shared epic adventures and traveled the world. Without Phil, he was nothing.

He is nothing.

He thanked the subscribers for watching. He spoke to the camera with a fake grin plastered onto his face. He tried to forget about the empty orange chair that sat next to him, or the red smudge on the edge of the table. His words sound rehearsed, spilling out of his own mouth like vomit.

He can’t stop thinking about the smack of Phil’s body on the floor. He can’t stop thinking about his hands as they moved without control, stamping a series of bloody red numbers across his pale white skin. Not just any number. His number.

He can’t stop thinking about Phil.

“Remember… don’t cry….”

He waited for Phil to finish their childish slogan, but there was nothing. Phil was gone.

Another groan. The darkness roped around his ankles and starts to tug him off the chair.

He wasn’t ready.

 

**F i n .**


End file.
